


A Christmas Miracle

by backtothestart02



Category: The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: Barry saves Christmas, Christmas Fluff, Cisco Ramon mention - Freeform, F/M, Gen, HR Wells mention, Harry Wells mention, Jesse Quick mention, caitlin snow mention, kid!westallen, sick!Iris
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-27
Updated: 2016-12-27
Packaged: 2018-09-12 16:26:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,551
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9080335
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/backtothestart02/pseuds/backtothestart02
Summary: A few years into married life, Iris gets sick on Christmas. It's up to Barry to save the day, the same way he did 17 years earlier the last time Iris got sick on her favorite holiday.My submission for the Westallen Secret Santa event on tumblr.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sophisticatedloserchick](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sophisticatedloserchick/gifts).



> To prevent any disillusionment any of you might have, NO, Iris is not pregnant in any part of this fic. Women can get the flu too. ;)
> 
> *As always, many thanks to my beta, sendtherain, for looking this over and correcting my mistakes before I submitted it anywhere. I'd be lost without you.

Barry felt her leave the bed for the third time that night. He kept his eyes shut until he’d heard the bathroom door open and close behind her, only then allowing himself to snatch a glimpse of the time.

_5:34 a.m._

He suppressed a groan. It was almost morning. _Christmas morning._ There was no way they’d end up at Joe’s house today for their annual Christmas celebration. They likely wouldn’t get to do any of Iris’s other cherished traditions from childhood that they’d revived ever since they became a couple.

Making gingerbread houses. Baking cookies with reindeer and snowmen faces. Crossing the state line to find the closest indoor snow park in the country where they could partake in skiing and ice-skating – Barry failed at both due to his long, clumsy legs – and sledding, which Barry wanted to do because it made Iris’s smile brighter than almost anything else. They would try making fancy ice sculptures but it would always end up being too cold, so they’d  gone to the hot chocolate booth that was always busy to make up for it.

They’d sit inside the large, usually half-empty, lifelike-looking igloo and make up stories of what Santa would do the other 364 days if he were real, and whether any of the reindeer or elves escaped the North Pole.

After a long day of this, they’d return home to Central City and go on a horse-drawn carriage ride and marvel at the Christmas lights decorating all the buildings downtown.

One year as children they hadn’t been able to do any of these things. It had been a dreadful holiday that Barry had somehow managed to salvage in Iris’s eyes.

He shut his eyes when, after more bouts of vomiting and groaning from inside, he heard Iris open the door. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to try to help her any way he could. The first time he’d gone with her and held back her hair, dabbed her forehead and neck with a wet washcloth, and asked her if she needed anything. The second time he’d done similar things, but she’d started to cry. _“It’s almost Christmas,”_ she’d said. _“I can’t be sick on Christmas.”_

Before crawling back into bed and attempting sleep again, Iris made Barry swear not to come after her if she got up again.

_“If I want to make it to dinner at Dad’s, I need to face my sickness head-on and defeat it. I can’t do that with you standing there reminded me I’m sick.”_

So, as much as it had killed him, Barry hadn’t moved a muscle that third time.

But when she got back in bed now, he sensed her shiver and turned towards her, hesitantly opening his eyes. When she didn’t argue, he pulled her close and wrapped the blankets more snugly around them.

“You’ll get sick,” she whined, finally admitting that three bouts of nausea and vomiting couldn’t be brushed off as inconsequential.

He kissed her forehead and ignored the bad breath that circulated between them with their faces so close.

“Nah,” he said, “I heal fast.”

He worried a little that flues might not work the way physical injuries did, because he’d be no good at saving her Christmas this time if he was sick too.

For the time being he ignored it and prayed that she would be able to relax enough to sleep through what was left of the night.

At 7:35 a.m., Iris sank into a hot bath, a freshly washed vomit bucket at her side on the tiled floor and told Barry to go call her dad. They weren’t coming for Christmas.

…

_Thirteen year-old Barry Allen flung back the covers of his bed when the chirping bird at his window simply wouldn’t let him sleep a moment longer. He didn’t mind it today, though. It was Christmas Day and he had one more surprise in store for Iris. She’d forced him to exchange gifts with her two days earlier, but with Christmas being her favorite holiday, he wanted to give her something on the actual day._

_“Iris?” he whispered, stopping at her door as he tiptoed down the hallway._

_It was half past six, so he figured Joe was still asleep. He didn’t like to be woken up early on holidays if by some miracle he didn’t have to go in to work. This year he’d deliberately taken off, which made both kids very happy._

_When there was no response and no bright-eyed Iris West suddenly flinging her bedroom door open to greet him, Barry decided she was either still asleep – unlikely – or that she was downstairs putting the final touches to the Christmas decorations and deciding which breakfast meal she would make for her boys._

_Abandoning his post, Barry quietly made his way downstairs and searched for Iris in the living room. He didn’t see her anywhere, but he did hear a deep voice coming from the kitchen._

_“She’s not down here, Barry.”_

_Startled, Barry jumped before joining Joe in the kitchen._

_“Is she still sleeping?” he asked, taking a seat at the table._

_Joe shook his head and sighed._

_“Afraid not, Bear. Our girl is sick.”_

…

 

“Sick?” Joe asked, disbelief coloring his voice. “On _Christmas_?”

Barry nodded for a while before he realized Joe couldn’t see him.

“Been throwing up all night.”

“Oh, man.”

Joe sounded genuinely disappointed, and Barry knew he was. Iris being sick on Christmas didn’t just ruin her holiday. It ruined theirs.

“Are you going to call a doctor?”

Barry shrugged and then mentally scolded himself for his continued physical gestures.

“I don’t think we need to. Seems like the flu to me.”

“The flu on Christmas…” he trailed off. “That hasn’t happened since—”

“I know.”

Joe paused. “She probably wouldn’t like Wally and I coming over, huh?”

Barry blinked. “She’d be horrified.”

“Cisco and Caitlin then—”

“ _Bad idea_.”

“Can we skype later at least? I’d hate to miss seeing my baby girl on Christmas.”

“I’ll see if I can talk her into it, but—” Barry paused when he heard more vomiting coming from the bathroom.

“I’m fine!” Iris called out with a scratchy voice and grumbled curse that followed.

“Go,” he heard Joe say faintly, his ear farther away from the phone than before.

He was half-debating ending the call or finishing the conversation, but his mind was heavily focused on Iris and whether she’d managed to puke into the bucket or on the floor or in the water. He cringed at the latter. It would be a mess to clean up and she would be miserable.

“What?” Barry asked when he realized Joe was speaking through the phone again.

“Go be with your wife, Bear. I’ll check in again later.”

Barry sighed. “Right. Talk to you later.”

“Tell her we love her.”

“Will do.”

The connection dropped.

…

_“Sick?” Young Barry asked, his jaw dropping wide open. “Iris can’t be sick on Christmas. It’s against the rules!”_

_Joe rubbed his creased forehead and decided not to ask what rules Barry was referring to. He didn’t like his daughter sick any day, but he agreed Christmas was definitely the worst._

_“She’s trying to sleep, Bear,” he said, lowering his voice and hoping the boy would do the same._

_Barry relented and sunk back into his seat._

_“What are we gonna do?”_

_“Well, there’s some cereal in the cupboard. Why don’t you help yourself to that while I call a doctor.”_

_“A doctor?” Barry blinked. “Why?”_

_“I need to know what Iris is sick with,” Joe said, sounding as confused as Barry._

_“What are her symptoms?” Barry demanded._

_Joe just stared for a few moments. “Uh…” He cleared his throat. “As far as I can tell she’s a little clammy, some chills, a low-grade fever, and vomiting.” He paused when he realized he’d just relayed his daughter’s symptoms with the vocabulary he’d use to talk to a medically licensed doctor._

_“Sounds like a flu to me, don’t you think?”_

_“Well…”_

_“You probably don’t need to call a doctor for that.”_

_“I’d like to be sure, Barry.”_

_“They’ll make you bring her in. You know how Iris hates hospitals.”_

_He did know. Iris had to be in the hospital overnight a year ago when she broke her hand defending Barry from a bully. She didn’t regret punching the bully square in the nose, but she did vow to never wind up in the hospital for that long again. It smelled and there were old people who stared blankly at everyone who passed them in the hall. Plus the food was bad and there was no good TV._

_“It would be a clinic, not the hospital.”_

_“If you can get an appointment,” Barry pointed out. “Otherwise you’ll have to take her to the ER. That’ll be crowded. Iris would be miserable.”_

_“It won’t be crowded on Christmas.”_

_“Do you really want to bet Iris’s happiness on that?”_

_Joe’s eyes narrowed._

_“You have a plan.”_

_Barry grinned._

_“What is it?”_

…

Barry knocked lightly on the door and walked into the bathroom.

“How are you doing, hon—” He stopped when he spotted a naked Iris dumping her vomit bucket into the toilet, two cotton balls stuck in her nostrils to alleviate the smell.

Barry covered his own nose.

“Maybe you should let me do that,” he suggested. He went over to her, but she quickly finished emptying the bucket and flushed the toilet.

When she turned around she tried to smile despite her nausea, but the light didn’t reach her eyes. Barry wrapped his arm around her shoulders and ushered her towards the open doorway.

“C’mon, try to get some more sleep.”

“I don’t wanna sleep,” she complained, her face pushing into his chest as they came to stand beside their bed.

“What do you wanna do?”

She sighed, aggravated. “I want to have Christmas.”

He braced himself. “What would you like to do for Christmas?”

“Well…” she trailed off, thinking. “I can’t eat anything or I throw up. I can’t walk around that much or I get nauseous and lightheaded. I feel hot and cold, so I’m always putting stuff on and taking things off. I probably shouldn’t go out. Eggnog and hot chocolate probably aren’t good ideas either. I haven’t been able to sleep more than a couple hours at a time. I don’t want all day Christmas to be a battle between my stomach and my exhaustion.”

“So that leaves…?” Barry let the question hang.

“That leaves Christmas,” Iris beamed, for real this time. “Seventeen years ago.”

…

_“Iris?” Barry whispered, tentatively opening her bedroom door. There was no sound, so he ventured further. “Iris?” he tried again._

_Slight movement could be seen from Iris’s bed across the room. It was followed by a moan and a yawn and a pained groan._

_“Barry?” she managed. “Is that you?”_

_Her lifeless voice made Barry hurt inside._

_“It’s Christmas,” he told her, wondering belatedly if that was the best choice._

_“I’m sick on Christmas,” he heard her say numbly. “What did I do to get sick on Christmas?”_

_Barry inched towards her and then stopped, remembering Joe’s order to not get too close lest he catch whatever flu she had._

_“I have a present for you,” he said, and she turned around._

_He placed the little box at the end of her bed and then backed away. Iris sat up slowly and then reached for it. Curiosity got the best of her and she opened it._

_“You already got me something, Barry. Those multicolored glow-in-the-dark stars I can put on my wall and the sparkly—” She stopped, her eyes wide, and looked up at him._

_“Look on the back,” he said, avoiding her eyes as the blush crept up his neck. “Take out what’s inside.”_

_It took her a moment to get over the shock of the monumental gift he’d given her, but she followed his instruction and found a handwritten ticket inside for ‘A Christmas Carol.’ She frowned._

_“I can’t go out, Barry. I’m sick.”_

_He grinned, confidence back._

_“Which is why we are bringing the play to you.”_

_Her brows furrowed. “We?”_

…

“Are you sure this is a good idea, Barry?” Wally asked, eyeing his brother-in-law dubiously. “Jesse and I, and you, can’t get sick, but the other…” He glanced at Joe, Cisco, Caitlin, and both Harrison Wells who were currently eyeing each other down – one gleeful and the other mistrusting. “The other _players_ can.”

Barry shrugged as if it was nothing.

“She’ll be across the room, Wally.”

Wally looked doubtful.

“It’s _Iris_ ,” he said, staring him down. “And it’s _Christmas_. This is all she wants.”

Wally shook his head. “I will never get why she wants this so much, but alright. Let’s put on a show.”

Barry failed at hiding his grin. He sped-dressed everyone in their costumes and then carried Iris down the stairs at normal speed so she wouldn’t get nauseous. He dimmed the lights and cherished the anticipatory smile on Iris’s face. When everybody was in their appropriate place in the shadows, he gave her a nod and she straightened as best as she could, announcing the opening lines of Charles’ Dickens, _A Christmas Carol_.

“Marley was dead, to begin with,” Iris began, inserting genuine emotion in her voice that could now be barely perceived as scratchy. “There is no doubt whatever about that.” Her eyes traveled across the room to each of them. “The register of his burial was signed by the clergyman, the clerk, the undertaker, and the chief mourner. Scrooge signed it. And Scrooge's name was good upon 'Change for anything he chose to put his hand to. Old Marley was as dead as a doornail.”

…

_“I can’t believe you performed that whole play all by yourself, Barry,” Iris said afterwards, feeling well enough to keep some Seven Up down._

_“Your dad helped too,” he insisted._

_Iris rolled her eyes. “He read the opening lines, which is something I could’ve done just as easily.”_

_“We didn’t know if you might be getting a sore throat,” he explained._

_“I have the flu, Barry, not a cold.”_

_“Your voice is scratchy,” he pointed out._

_She frowned. “Only a little.”_

_Across the room Joe was watching them like a hawk. He clearly disapproved of Barry sitting so close to his very sick daughter, but since she was feeling in better spirits, he made no move to separate them._

_“Did you…” Color started to spread up to Barry’s cheeks again. “Like it?”_

_Iris grinned. “Best one-man play I ever saw.”_

_Barry blushed further and couldn’t meet her eyes. The compliment both embarrassed and excited him, even if her assurance probably didn’t mean much at all._

_“Seriously, Barry.” She touched his hand. Joe flinched. “I really liked it.”_

_Barry looked up at her, his eyes glued to hers. “Really?”_

_She nodded. “Mmhmm.”_

_“Does it make up for being sick on Christmas?”_

_He didn’t know how to take the ambiguous expression on her face. He decided to go with the negative._

_“You can tell me if it sucked, Iris.” He took a deep breath. “I can take it.”_

_Without thinking, Iris took his face in her hands, pulled him to her and kissed him on the cheek._

_Joe stepped forward to separate them then, but the glowing look on Barry’s face made him stop. Barry was dazzled, rendered speechless, and probably wouldn’t mind at all if he was also sick with the flu in a matter of hours._

_It took Joe back to the first days he’d stayed in their house. He’d been Iris’s shadow then, more so than now. He’d hung on to every word she said and nearly had a panic attack at any mention of being separated from her for more than a few minutes, except at bed time. Joe wasn’t unaware of the times Iris snuck into Barry’s bedroom when he started to cry in his sleep. She always got there before he did, so eventually he just let her._

_“It was a great play,” she insisted. “I just liked your other present better.”_

_“My other…? You mean the one from the other day that I—”_

_She shook her head and pulled out the gift he’d given her just an hour before from beneath the blanket on her lap. She looked down at it in awe and then back at him with tears in her eyes._

_“Are you sure you want to give it to me, Barry? I know it means a lot to you.”_

_He nodded. “I’m sure. You help me every year when I miss my mom on Christmas. I know you miss yours too.”_

_Iris looked down at the snow globe he’d given to her and shook it in slow curving lines. When the snow settled, she could clearly see a picture of her mother from years ago, holding a six month-old Iris in her arms. Her father leaned over both of them, a proud smile on his face as he rested a hand on his wife’s shoulder._

_The picture brought tears to Iris’s eyes, because she’d often wondered if pictures of her mom even existed. Barry was sure they did somewhere and one day when no one else was home, he went digging until he found a full photo album of Francine, Joe and Iris West from years ago when their family was whole. Joe had been shocked when he presented it to him. Barry could tell he was resistant to the idea of giving Iris that picture for Christmas, though he didn’t know why. Maybe it would open a conversation he wasn’t ready for. Or maybe Barry overanalyzed anything that had to do with Iris West._

_The snow globe left Iris speechless though because it had been one of the few mementos of Barry’s mother that he kept close by and didn’t want tucked away. It was something that reminded him to never stop believing that his dad was innocent and his mom was still with him in some way._

_The picture in that globe used to be of Barry and Nora Allen on a warm day in early autumn after he’d just started kindergarten. He’d been thrilled to see his mother after a long grueling day without any messy crafts or new ideas beyond letters and numbers._

_‘I know those things already,’ he’d complained. His mother had only smiled._

_The globe had been hard to part with, but for the past two years Iris had given him a home, had been the friend he needed without his mother and father to celebrate Christmas with him. He knew how much Iris wished she knew her mother and how sad she was – even if she didn’t talk about it much – that she had died before she really got to know her._

_‘You’re pretty clever for a kid with no parents,’ a bully had spewed at him once._

_It had burned then, but he decided it was pretty true right now. He smiled from ear to ear when Iris looked up at him._

_“There’s just one thing missing.”_

_Barry frowned. “What’s that?”_

_Iris turned and reached for a picture frame on the end table beside the lamp. She carefully slid out the backing and retrieved the little picture inside._

_“Since I’ve already used my ticket for the play today, I think I can fill this side with…” She grunted with the effort it took to squeeze in the picture just right. Then she turned it so Barry could see it._

_Barry blushed again._

_It was a picture of him and Iris from last Christmas, with Iris’s arms around his neck as she grinned into the camera. He wore a slight blush as he smiled just as fiercely, albeit a little awkwardly, sitting right where there were on the couch just now._

_“You didn’t have to do that, Iris,” he managed, his breath catching just enough to make him swallow halfway through his sentence._

_“I wanted to,” she said. “Now everybody I love will be beside me when I sleep.”_

_Of his own volition, Barry hugged her tightly and she nuzzled her face into his neck._

_“Merry Christmas, Iris,” he mumbled into her hair._

_“You’ll get sick,” she said, making no effort to pull away._

_“I don’t care.”_

…

An hour later and Iris had yet to vomit again. The play had finished. Everyone had wished her well and left gifts with her at the table. Barry deposited himself on the couch beside her and smiled shamelessly.

“So…”

“So…” she grinned right back.

“What did you think? As good as the first time?”

She rolled her eyes. “Hardly.”

He frowned.

“No one can quite pull off three spirits and an egotistical Scrooge like you can.”

He smiled warmly and started to lean in. She placed a hand over his lips to stop the descent.

“You might be a metahuman with speedy healing abilities, but it’s never been tested on a flu before. You don’t know if—”

But he silenced her by pulling her hand away and kissing her soundly on her lips. He pressed a quick peck to her cheeks, forehead, nose, and chin before drawing back. His eyes shone lovingly when they locked again with hers, too caught up in her to even taunt her with a smug grin.

“I don’t care.”


End file.
